2011 Rock 'n' Roll Vegas recap

I have so much to say about this race experience. I don't even know where to start.

Here goes: It was a complete and total catastrophe.

Jess CrawfordThe strip at night - sounds like a fun place to run a marathon!

Okay, from the beginning. I touched down in Vegas on Saturday night, too late to attend the expo. Thankfully, my sister arrived to town at lunchtime and picked everything up for me. (This is a luxury we were allowed as "media" -- none of the registered runners were allowed to have their packets picked up by friends or family). We were really excited by the race swag, particularly because as members of the media (!) we were given media passes and a super nice long-sleeved half-zip Brooks running shirt with the race logo embroidered on the front. In retrospect, this shirt might have been the best part of the experience.

One of the funny things about running an evening race is the number of your friends and family who forget or don't know and who send you text messages all morning asking, "How did it go?" Unfortunately, the downside of an evening race is that you have all day to walk around Las Vegas -- and good lord, people, those casinos are huge -- and it might be too late when you realize that your legs are already exhausted and you still have a race to run. Also, the night race gives you all day to make bad diet decisions, like kung pao chicken for breakfast (yes, really … I don't even know) or that third cup of coffee.

But eventually it was race time. We walked (and walked and walked) over to the tram station at the now-closed Sahara hotel, and got to the start line at about 5. The walk from the final tram station to the start (Mandalay Bay) was probably close to a mile; I think we might have been able to get on a separate tram that would have taken us directly into Mandalay Bay, but since most of the runners were walking, we did the same.

The start line was a zoo. I had brought a bag to check and there was no indication of where the gear check was. We asked a volunteer and she pointed to the finishers' village, but she wasn't certain, and even so, we hadn't the faintest clue how to get to it. It was wall-to-wall people. We grew increasingly frantic as time ticked by and we still couldn't find where to deposit the bag. Finally, we shouldered our way through the race line -- no easy feat -- and over to the finishers' village, where we found an information desk and asked again. They directed us into a nearby building. I honestly thought we were never going to get there; it was a considerable distance from the start. There were no signs. There were no race officials to help us out. As we were searching, the race started. We panicked and started jogging. Finally, we found the gear check, tucked inside a ballroom in the hotel. We were perplexed by the enormous number of runners who were casually walking to the start line, seemingly oblivious of the fact that the race had already begun. I didn't find out until later that the shuttles meant to take the runners to the hotel had run hopelessly late, making hundreds or possibly thousands of runners miss the start.

We ran back to the start line, trying to remind ourselves that there were 44,000 runners and that our race didn't begin until we crossed the mat. Because as "media," we hadn't filled out official registrations, we were assigned start corral 41: dead last. We decided we would hop into an earlier corral, because we were freezing and because we had seen the 2:15 pacer standing in corral TWELVE. There was absolutely no one policing the corrals, so although you were assigned a location, you could go where you liked. This turned almost instantly into an enormous problem, but for us at that moment it was great. We hopped into corral 16 and made our way, like cattle, to the start.

The stages were all set up, the music blaring, and we were pumped. Although we'd been cold all day, we were blanketed by thousands of other runners and felt perfectly comfortable. The first couple of miles were right on the strip, and that was super exciting -- the best part of the race. The lights! The bands! Everybody was excited. The crowd was still thick, but we hoped it would spread out soon.

Jess CrawfordPacked - this is the start, but could well have been a photo taken anywhere on the route.

We hoped. And hoped. And hoped. By mile 2, people in front of us were already walking. It didn't make sense: we'd started in corral 16. Why were there walkers? I'll never know if those people were erroneously given the wrong corral, if they just thought it would be a good idea to start near the front of the pack, or if they simply couldn't get to their own corrals because of the crowd. Regardless, it made for a very frustrating situation for everyone. We were almost shoulder to shoulder in the crowd; we were stuck at a 10:30 pace, and that was once we began weaving around people. It was difficult not to get rude.

Still, we hoped that eventually, things would clear out. But I'll spoil it for you: they never did. We ran the whole race in a tight pack. Things opened up the tiniest bit around mile 9, but by then it was too late, not just because we were never going to make up our lost time, but also because I was injured.

I randomly tweaked my right IT band on a shakeout run on Friday, which was puzzling because that's my 'good' leg. (I've had a ton of problems with my left leg). I had it lightly massaged on Saturday, stretched it, and hoped for the best. Unfortunately, it flared up at the half mile mark and it was downhill from there. By mile five my knee was screaming. By mile eight my leg had turned into a knife. By mile ten -- long after I should have stopped -- I began to lose feeling in my foot. I stopped and stretched, and my sister kept me company as I walked for a minute or two. But I ran on it for another half mile before giving it up and sending her on alone. I walked until mile twelve, and then stubbornly ran the last mile.

The injury was made worse by the crowds, because we were often forced to hop onto the sidewalk or onto a median, or to leap around the insane number of discarded gloves, hats, shirts, and so forth. The whole race was like an obstacle course, which was absolute murder on my leg.

I struggled for miles with what to do. I knew the smart decision was to stop. Part of why I didn't, frankly, was because I didn't see a single medical tent. So, given a choice between running and walking, I knew running would get me to the finish sooner -- and I was desperate to be finished. But I also didn't stop because I still, despite knowing better in my rational brain, have this notion that running through pain is the tough, brave choice. It isn't. Taking the DNF would have been the brave choice; it required the courage to say, "I can't do this and that's okay," and to know that another chance will come up. As of right now, it's excruciating to bend my right leg. I don't know how long it will take my IT band to heal. Heed my warning: there's little glory in limping to the finish.

Anyway -- pardon the digression. I have so many things to talk about regarding this event. It brought up a lot of issues that are a problem in many races:

Runner etiquette

I'm starting to think that races should hand out a list of basic runner etiquette along with the waivers and schedules. It's hard to tell how much of the behavior out there was bad manners and how much was caused by bad race organization, and I'm inclined to blame much of it on the latter.

That said: if you are a faster runner, politely tap the shoulder of the person in front of you who is blocking you and say, "excuse me." Don't elbow through the space between runners. Don't push. I know it sucks to be stuck in a crowd, but that's life in a big race. There are reports of people being double-handed SHOVED from behind by faster runners. I was personally shoved at one point by a guy who -- at mile 10! -- muscled his way past me. That boggled my mind: at that point we were all so off our goal paces; what was the point? (I yelled at him as he passed. I couldn't help it).

Slower runners: If you are a walker, don't jostle to the front of the start line. Yield when people ask to pass. Don't walk five abreast.

Half-marathons + full marathons in one event

I have not seen it work, ever. The problem is ALWAYS the join -- the moment when the two races come together. At RNRLV, it was a complete disaster. Seriously. The full marathon course joined the half mid-way through, but the delineation between the half and full sides of the course (half runners on the right, full on the left) was only marked with street cones, most of which had been kicked over by the thousands of runners who were too crammed together to NOT kick them over. The result was that most of us had no idea that the marathoners were over there. At one point, maybe around mile 9 of the half, a cyclist with a bullhorn came up from behind repeatedly asking the half runners to move to the right. Some did, some didn't. Frankly, things were so crowded that it was hard to yield to the marathoners anyway. The result of this traffic disaster was that marathoners running PR-setting paces hit the intersection with the half and got completely screwed.

On the RNRLV facebook page, there's a lot of blaming the half runners for this. They should have gotten out of our way. They were walking and talking on their cell phones! And so forth. And while I understand that frustration, the real issue lies with race organization. The half and full marathoners are both racing, at whatever pace is their pace. (Although to be fair, I don't have any patience for talking on your phone during the race. JUST STOP, good lord). The half-marathoners should not be put in a situation where they might interfere with marathoners. It sucks for everybody. It makes everybody frustrated, and angry at each other.

Not enough supplies

HOW DOES THIS HAPPEN?? Seriously. Everyone running that race knew that there were 44,000 runners there. Yet somehow the race organizers didn't get the memo. There were not enough shirts, not enough medals, not enough water or Cytomax on the course (they were out of Cytomax by the time we passed, and there were 30,000 runners behind us), not enough food at the end of the race. They literally ran out of everything. We crossed the line at 2:30 clock time, so fortunately everything was still stocked, but it just simply astounds me every time this happens. 44,000 runners = 44,000 medals. It is not astrophysics.

This situation really angers me, even though it didn't affect me. I actually felt sorry that I hadn't run into anyone who didn't get their medal, because I don't care for medals and would have happily given it to someone who had their heart set on it. The fact that there was no food at the end for those coming in later is just inexcusable, and unsafe. Also, it creates a quasi-class system, with the faster runners getting the best of everything and the slowest runners missing out altogether. It is unacceptable, period.

This all ties into a bigger issue -- the real issue of the race. There were just way too many people. When I finished the race, I crossed the line much slower than I wanted, because I couldn't get through the crowd, and then I immediately slammed into a wall of people. Runners were anxious to pick up their medals, their space blankets, and some food; it was a free-for-all. There needed to be a much bigger space between the finish line and the medals/food/blankets, to allow people to clear out. There was a great deal of pushing. I was injured and became increasingly frustrated and emotional, just wanting desperately to be free of the sea of bodies. But there was no respite anywhere. We shuffled forward towards the food tables (by the way, all the bananas were hopelessly, inedibly green; mine was still not ripe as of Tuesday morning). The crowd thinned a little towards the gear check, but getting there was a long walk, and I was continuously bumped and jostled and cut off by spectators, some with strollers, who were milling about in the horribly packed space. I truly felt that if one more person bumped into me, I was going to burst into tears. And then punch them.

When I finally got my bag and met up with my sister, it took us nearly forty minutes to find the shuttles back to the hotel. The shuttle stop was marked on the map, but the path to get there was completely wrong. There were countless runners walking back and forth, up and down the hallway, saying, "Did you try that door?" Eventually we found a set of signs leading outside, but they went nowhere. We finally headed back to the information booth. Then we had to walk another half mile or so to find the shuttles. In the end, we finished the race at about 8 and didn't get back to the hotel until 10:30. There was no way we were going to any after party by that point -- our feet were hamburger and we were upset and exhausted. Instead, we got hot chocolate at the donut shop downstairs.

Go Vegas?

We heard later (via their facebook page) -- if you like drama, it's a terrific read) that later in the evening it got significantly worse. Runners, packed together with no way out, began fainting. Medics could not get through to take the injured to safety. A Michael Jackson show let out nearby and the showgoers, who were trying to travel against traffic, mingled with the race participants, making the dangerous crowd situation even worse.

This was the worst race experience I've ever had. I feel intensely sorry for everyone who hoped for a PR, and grateful that our entries were comped. I would never run this race again, or recommend it. In fact, it makes me feel turned off by big races altogether, even though I recognize that RNRLV's problems were organizational in nature. And I only hope that RNR does a better job with Portland.